


Another day in Bluffington

by bananaandhaircasserole



Category: Doug (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananaandhaircasserole/pseuds/bananaandhaircasserole
Summary: A day in the life of an adult Doug Funnie.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Another day in Bluffington

9:47 A.M. He rolled over and rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding and he felt sick. He reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and gulped it. It wasn't just water. He had forgotten about the gin he added shortly before passing out. He knew he would need it. The smell of juniper wasn't strong, but it was just enough to make him wretch. Even though it would take a moment to feel the effect, he felt a little better knowing the stuff was in him. A half-empty bottle was next to the glass. Good. Once his stomach stopped threatening to revolt he could get on with breakfast. There was another bottle in the kitchen, but that wouldn't last. He'd have to make a run to the liquor store. He liked his gin room temperature and straight from the bottle. Never mind a glass. It was time to get up.

11:13 A.M. The phone rang. A vaguely familiar voice asked for "Doug," but he simply replied, "wrong number" and hung up. He assumed it was his sister, whose name he barely remembered. She had disappeared after Woodstock '99 and no one heard from her again. His parents had gone crazy looking for her to no avail. Eventually, Mrs. Funnie died from grief believing her only daughter to be dead. Mr. Funnie died a few years later after a booze-fueled foray into the Las Vegas underworld. Doug wasn't even sure if his sister knew about their parents. As painful as their deaths were, Doug handled it almost stoically. His friends were still around - Patti, Skeeter, Bebe, the Dinks... All of them. He could rely on them. Especially his beloved canine, Porkchop. But, as with all pets, they die too soon. Porkchop got old. Luckily, his death was peaceful. He simply fell asleep next to Doug and never woke up. He was buried in the one spot of the backyard Doug tended to. The rest of the yard was overgrown. The house was becoming dilapidated. Despite this, the inside was unusually clean and free of clutter. Odd for someone with a drinking problem, but Doug was anal about it. Everything HAD to be the way it was when everything was good. 

12:22 P.M. Doug started walking. He had to walk. After four DUIs his license had been revoked permanently. He glanced at the Dink's house. He always did. They had both retired and moved to a home in the Carolinas, somewhere along the beach. And despite the fact the housing market crashed over a decade ago, the house was STILL for sale. No one wanted to move to BLUFFINGTON. There just wasn't much here. There never had been. The town's fifteen minutes of fame had come in 2003 after the mayor had been involved in a bribery and sex scandal with an underage girl. It was unlike anything anyone had seen or expected to come out of this rinky-dink place. He lit a cigarette. God, he needed that. Especially after eyeing Roger Klotz coming down the street. Oh no. As kids, Roger was just an asshole. But after a heroin overdose, he hung up that hat and replaced it with a giant, gold cross that dangled from his idiot, green neck. His leather jacket had been replaced by polo shirts. His orange hair was still the same. His new lust for life had equipped him with a self-righteous attitude that made people find him downright insufferable. Especially Doug. They had gotten hammered together a few times; even pulled a train on one of Roger's mom's friends. However, Roger had conveniently forgotten about those days. Now, he just wanted to bring Doug to church. Roger waved and jogged across the street towards Doug. "Hey, buddy!" Doug nodded and kept walking, hoping to avoid a conversation. He could tell Roger could smell him. It didn't stop him from talking though.

"What are you doing this weekend?!" He chirped.

Doug shrugged, "No idea."

"Well..." He started, smiling, "I was hoping we could get together! Maybe check out that Bible study?"

Doug shrugged again, "We'll see."

"Cool!! Well, just give me a call!" He trotted away. Doug exhaled smoke angrily. Fuckin' cunt. 

1:02 P.M. Bookbag filled with bottles and a carton of cigarettes, Doug sat dreamily in the Honker Burger. He loved it here. Since he was a kid. He was working on his third burger. The food was cheap as it always had been. Other than the gin, it was the only thing that brought him comfort. The place hadn't been renovated since the mid 90's and that made it perfect. Nothing had changed. Being here he felt as if he could, just for a moment, relive his glory days. He could live in those times again when everything was bright, new, and full of hope. He liked to imagine that any moment, his friends would walk in, they would get milkshakes, and go about their days. Of course, it wouldn't happen. Skeeter lived in Switzerland now working at CERN. He had been considered for a Nobel Prize, but Doug wasn't sure if he had won it or not. Patti and Beebe had run away together. It was a surprise to everyone. They had been keeping their relationship a secret for years because...Bluffington. Last Doug heard they were living somewhere out west. Beebe ran a construction company and played softball on the weekends. Patti was the dutiful housewife. They made an incredibly adorable couple. Everyone else had left and disappeared. Doug and Roger seemed to be the only natives left.

3:17 P.M. Home, drunk and rocking out to The Beets. He didn't care how old the album was, IT WAS STILL RELEVANT. Their albums were PERFECT according to Doug. The band could be fun and also full of teenage angst. Who doesn't need mo' allowance? (Yo-da-lay-hee-hoo). The small inheritance that had been left my his parentals sustained him for the time being. The house was paid off, he rarely showered or used lights, he had no debt. Doug was set. He could keep partying in his own world for as long as he wanted. But he would always take a little extra cash if he could. For a split second he considered getting a regular job. Pffft. No. That would interrupt the party. He ran around the house in his underwear, fist pumping, occasionally sipping from the bottle in his other hand. He screamed the words along to his favorite band (There were no neighbors. Why not?). This was the life. He had everything he needed here. Life could go on as it did all those years ago. 

5:58 P.M. The sweat covering Doug's body was more alcohol than water. If he could step outside of himself for just a moment, he would know just how bad he smelled. But he didn't care. There was no one to care. He felt good. He sat on the couch with scarfing a T.V. dinner watching a stand-up special. He laughed out loud and nodded to every joke. He wondered where the nearest comedy club was. He could do this. It was easy. People thought he was funny. He knew he was funny. The food had given him a shot of energy and with this he decided to go out. 

6:15 P.M. Bluffington's finest dive bar has a regular clientele of six people, of which Doug is one. He doesn't drink his usual gin here though. They don't have his brand. Plus, he had had an experience some years earlier where he was "escorted" from the bar. No one wanted a repeat of that night. Instead, he goes for a cold draught beer. It always hurts his teeth, but he pushes through. Out of the six crowded at the bar, Doug was the youngest by at least 20 years. He didn't mind though. These guys had grown up in the town too. They grew up with his parents. They were legends. Heroes in Doug's mind. They had built the town. So what if they spent all their time in the bar? They deserved it. And they had welcomed Doug with open arms. They bought his drinks, joked with him, taught him how to throw darts and shoot pool; these were his people. 

7:18 P.M. A couple of young girls wander in and order some drinks. The other guys shoot Doug a look. As the youngest member of the crew, Doug is expected to chase every bit of trim that walks through the door. The older guys live vicariously through him. He walks over to their table with what he thinks is swagger. In reality, he's stumbling ever so slightly from his blood alcohol content. He's thankful he remembered to put on some deodorant and cheap cologne before he left the house. His smell doesn't seem to offend the ladies. They smile politely and accept the shots he offers to buy. Tonight might be a good night for Doug. He's been on an unacceptably long dry spell. The whiff of the ladies' perfume almost drives him over the edge. He knows he must be patient though. He was always charming. And talking to these two women it would appear he hadn't lost his touch. In no time they're laughing and carrying on as if they had been friends for years. He buys a few more rounds of shots. 

11:38 P.M. Doug is giggling in front of the bathroom mirror. He just might get laid tonight! He catches himself on the sink, nearly falling. He smiles at himself. "My eyes don't look right." He thinks. He thinks back to his childhood for a second. He thinks of Porkchop. He misses Porkchop. "No. No. Keep it together. I'm getting laid tonight!" He's mumbling to himself. He can feel the tears welling up. Good thing for the bar's dim lighting. The girls don't notice. But, it's not the same. The girls notice the change in his demeanor. They ask if he's ok. He nods. The desire to be alone is overwhelming. He gets up without a word and saunters out of the bar. No one will chase him. He'll be back tomorrow and can settle his tab then. They know him there. He's not upset to be going home, there is more liquor there. By now, he's stumbling. He can still get home though and if he needed to, he COULD pass out in someone's bushes. He'd done it before. The police are virtually non-existent in Bluffington. 

12:12 A.M. Doug's in the backyard sitting on Porkchop's grave. He can't stop crying. He tells him how much he misses him and what's going on in town. He recounts his day almost minute-by-minute. He just KNOWS Porkchop can hear him. He asks how his day was and asks him if he remembers various events in their time together. He waits silently for an answer that never comes. But he pretends to hear it. He swigs his gin, puffs his cigarette and goes back inside. He plops himself onto the couch, watching T.V. He's getting tired. 

1:01 A.M. It's been a long day. Doug is filling a glass with water and gin. He'll need it in the morning. As he drools on himself a little, he curses the fact he didn't try harder with those girls at the bar. No big deal. Tomorrow is another day. 


End file.
